The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1887-11-25

OF me. With due respect fer the fell
ler's rights, | was preparin' to turn
around an git out, when I heard
voice that somehow seemed familiar.
| You're a swindler,n it was sayin',
san you know it! The bottom of that
kittle is just the poorest kind o stuff,
an the nose has come off an been
fastened on again. I don't want to
trade with you, an I won't, SO you
may as well goi''
'It's my little washtub beauty"
Gays | to myself, wonderful glad, an
so it was. She followed the man,
meachin' cross-eyed chap, to the door,
an [ could see she was almost as
| angry as she was on the first mornin'
| I'd seen her. She wasn't so pretty
this time either, for she he'd towel
around her head, an a faded-out calico
dress, an boots that was out at the
toes; but somehow my heart gave
thump an was down off'n my wag-
gin in no time.
MAY be l kin make a trade with
you, [ says, more jerky than ever
spoke before.
"Well, may be you can," she says,
eyein' me. l knew she was trying to
place me, but couldn't. I wanted to
help her, but somehow couldn't find
the words. [ could only bring out my
best kittles and knock off half the
regular price, on the ground that I
wanted to dispose of 'em quick, SOS to
lay in new an improved stock.
was longin' to know if this was her
home, but couldn't think O. no way to
find out without askin' in so many
words, an that hadn't the courage to
| do.
She handled the things carefully, but
all of a sudden, when thought she was
examinin' the nose of my biggest tea
kettle, she spoke up quick and sharp.
II know where I've seen you, she
said, at was when 1 doused that
Charley Cranky. May be you don't
remember, since you didn't lose your
temper an place; but losin' your place
| lHdhGS YOU Ielu6luU er.
| Somehow them words made me light
headed; she'd remembered me!
81 recollect," said /, fast as ever I
could for the fit that seized my tongue,
"an wanted to shake hands with YOU
He deserved all you gave, the varmintr'
She smiled little, and sighed, too.
at lost me my place, of course"
she went on, takin' up q bread-pan an
turnin' it over. Iain't he'd the heart to
look up another one yet, so here am
at home, a-scoldin one peddler an
tellin' my affairs to another. You must
have pretty poor opinion of me, an
no wonder"
She ended with little laugh, an
| said she guessed they'd take the bread
pan an the smaller kettle.
"Do you ealkerlate to stay round
home all summer" L asked. hating
myself because my face was gettin' red
as fire.
She answered back quite fierce:
81 shall stay till / learn to manage
my temper better in tryin' times, which,
accordin' to present appearances, won't
be any too SOON"
said some peddlers was enough to
try the patience of a saint, an then
| grew Redeem ever, because I was
afraid she'd think I meant | was above
all SIGH, an an exception to 'em. But
she didn't seem to take it that way.
She laughed, an said there was ped
dlers an peddlers.
Then we settled for the things, an
there bein' no excuse for my stayin'
longer went.
said to myself good many times
that day: She's got red hair, an she's
got temper" but it didn't keep her
out O my head mite, nor hinder me
from gettin' round to that farmhouse
| again in week. This time we didn't
make no trade, but we he'd few words
O. nonsense over, an we noticed the
hearty way things were CROWN.
1t was near twilight, an when l
went away l had feelin' as if I'd
tucked a bit O. peacefulness down in
my heart to make me glad and thank
full in the dust and flies O. the road.
1t needed it putty often that summer,
for it grew to be dreadful dry season,
and the travelin' was vile. he'd to go
to that farmhouse q good many times;
1t was no use tryin' to keep away, for
the thought O. them bright eyes drew
me there sure as honey draws bees.
Imade excuses an made excuses to
myself till l most forgot I was Meth
odist in good an regular standin'.
Then drew myself up short.
Its no use, James Grimem | said;
you've lost somethin', an you won't
find it unless you find it in them brown
eyes down on the Gray farm.
So put on my best suit O clos an
a light oyercoat, for it was gittin' near
winter an the nights was chilly, an l
hired a team of the livery stable at the
village where l was stoppin' an
started. But I hadn't gone more'n a
rod or two when turned back.
mo, you DON'T / says, go dressed
upin your very best and behind hired
boss. You amt goin' to take no such
advantage o the little girl. Like as
not she'll be tired with her day swork,
an in her common, everyday dress,
an you amt goin' in upon her all fixed
up as if you had no work to do or
nothin'-no, sir, not by long shot!n
So took off the shiny store clos an
put on the old ones l had on when l
first see her. They was pretty seedy.
but put 'em on, an. when I'd hitched
the old mare into the tin-cart felt a
sight more square an comfortable.
/ was no better as fur as clos went than
the dear little woman wanted for my
wife was-as to character. thought
o my pipes an rough ways, an felt
way below her. But then 1 thought,
too, of her brown eyes and drove on.
1t was just supper-time when got
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